Nothing to Laugh At
by LauraHuntORI
Summary: So what did Heath see in Ward Whitcomb, anyway? A 'Now and Then' story, inspired by Season 1, Episode 23: The Fallen Hawk.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **_"Laughter is a sunbeam of the soul."_ ― The Magic Mountain, Thomas Mann

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of this, except in the sense that love is ownership.

* * *

_Now: _

"Boy Howdy, it is one beautiful day!"

"You're in a good mood," Audra smiled as her brother entered and seated himself at the table.

Apparently, he'd been taking lessons in gallantry from Jarrod, for he responded, "Who could be glum when having breakfast with such a lovely young lady?"

"Nick could! He was terrible at dinner last night, Heath, you're lucky you weren't here."

"Did he say—"

"About time you got back here!" Nick was suddenly in their midst, like a devil invoked by the speaking of his name.

"Nick," Heath began, "I was out this morn—"

"I _know _you were out this morning. Just as you were out all last night!"

"I wasn't out all ni—"

"You seem to be forgetting, little brother, that THIS IS A WORKING RANCH! And just because Mother's decided to take a little holiday to visit Jarrod in San Francisco, it doesn't mean _you _get to take a holi—"

"Nick!" Heath yelled.

Nick stared. "What?"

"I was back before midnight, and I've been working since five o'clock this morning!"

Nick cocked his head consideringly. "Is that so?"

Audra, having taken her own verbal licks from Nick at the dinner table the night before, watched in sympathetic amusement as her newest brother's erstwhile ebullient spirits solidified to the point of grimness.

"If you don't believe me, you can ask McCall," Heath growled.

Nick blew out a breath, and his anger with it. Perhaps he'd come down too heavy. Heath was a hard worker. And he _was _wearing a different shirt than the one he'd had on when he left last night. "Do I need to? You haven't turned into a liar in the space of a single night, have you?" Before the sentence was fully out of his mouth Nick had rounded the table and thrust his hand down inside the back of Heath's vest to get a feel of the back of his shirt. It was damp with sweat. Nick grunted his approval.

"Satisfied?" Heath wondered sourly. Sometimes he wasn't convinced he really liked Nick's brand of horseplay.

"Just don't ever let me catch you in a dry one!" The older Barkley mock-threatened, winking over Heath's head at Audra, then going back to his own place at the table and wiping his hand on his napkin, lips still twitching as he reached for his waterglass.

"Oh, you won't, Nick," Heath riposted tartly. "I always wet it down with a canteen before I come in."

Nick snorted and sprayed his mouthful of water, and Audra didn't even try to hold back her own laughter. Heath wisely used the interval while his brother recovered to consume his food.

When the older man could breathe again, he began, "Why I oughta—"

"Nick," Heath interrupted hurriedly, "doncha think we'd better finish breakfast and get on out to work? I mean, we have so much to do today, and here it's getting on for eight-thirty, and you know what they say, 'If you haven't finished at least half your work by ten o'clock, then you probab—'"

"All right," Nick agreed. He focused his own attention on his food for a moment. "What time did Mother say she'd be back tomorrow?"

"Before supper," Audra replied.

"Good."

Silence settled on the dining room for a few minutes, until the sounds of eating were joined by a low chuckle. Audra and Nick turned to Heath incredulously. '_He must be a glutton for punishment,' _Audra thought.

"Something funny?" Nick's flat tone held a warning.

Heath heeded it by stopping the sound immediately. He reckoned he'd given Nick enough lip for one morning. "No, big brother."

Curious now more than angry, Nick probed, "Then what are you laughing at?"

Heath seemed puzzled about that himself. The golden head lowered slightly. "Nothing." His upper lip folded over the lower just slightly, moistening it, and his own tone was apologetic. "I just suddenly felt like laughing."

"Mmm-hmm," Nick opined, unconvinced. "Had a good time with your friends in town last night, did you?"

Heath nodded. "Yeah, a real nice time."

"Well," Nick stared thoughtfully at his younger brother. "I hope you enjoyed it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **_"__Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years it was a splendid laugh!"_ ― A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of this, except in the sense that love is ownership.

* * *

_Then: _

"Boy Howdy, is that gonna be trouble!" Over the pounding of twenty-four hooves no one could hear him, which was just as well.

Maybe he'd been mistaken.

Heath concentrated for a moment, gauging the slight variance in the play of the reins between the index and middle fingers of either hand. Definitely something not right on the left. But how wrong was it? He shot a glance at the setting sun. _Please, Lord, let us make it to the way station._

Instinctively, he pulled back just a bit. The guard noticed immediately. "What's wrong, boy?" He had to shout to be heard over the pounding hooves.

Heath sighed. "I think the near swing's coming up lame!" he shouted back.

"Tarnation! You think we gonna make it?" The grizzled old man looked at the middle horse on Heath's side worriedly, but all the horses seemed the same to him.

"I'm hopin' she ain't too bad yet, but I want her to take it easy. It ain't quite sundown yet, and we been makin' good time up to now."

"We'll be late in," the guard objected.

"Be a lot later if she was to give out. Besides we ain't goin' on tonight either way," Heath pointed out.

"Okay, well.. you do as you think best, boy."

"Yes, sir." He didn't really need to 'sir' the guard, but the old timer liked it, and Heath wanted to stay on his good side. He focused on the swing reins again, and now he couldn't feel any difference. Maybe slowing down had helped, or maybe it had been his imagination to begin with.

Or maybe the horse would keel over in its traces in the next mile. This was what comed of driving a coach over this country with a hitch of horses 'stead of mules. _'What was I thinkin' takin' this job?'_ Heath shook his head in irritation. He'd been thinking that work was work, and he needed to eat even if it meant working for a fool. _'What does that Eastern tenderfoot know about runnin' a stage line, anyways?'_

* * *

It had not been his imagination.

Full dark found Heath squatting down in the corral at the feet of the lame horse. He had rubbed her down good, praising her all the while for getting them there, for being so brave when he knew she'd been in pain.

"I'm so sorry, girl," he murmured, his regret not put on, but real and sympathetic, gentle hands feeling the heat in the long pastern bone below her fetlock joint under the bandage. "You can rest now, and soon you'll be as right as rain."

The horse whickered, and tapped her injured foot lightly on the ground like a dancer, putting no weight on it, just making sure the ground was still where she expected it to be. She decided it was safe, took a step, paused a moment, hoof in the air, then took another.

Heath was putting the stopper back in the bottle of liniment when a full-throated peel of merry laughter rang out in the warm niight air.

Someone clearly thought something very amusing.

A jet of anger flared. "An injured horse funny?" he snapped, rising to face the whoever it was.

A young man stood at the corral fence, and despite the challenge, maintained his merry grin. "Nope."

Heath felt fire spread through his chest and belly, down his arms and legs, and even into his fingers and toes. He was unspeakably grateful. **_Yes, _**_he would __**love **__to fight! _

A fight was just what he craved to relieve the stress of the day, his irritation at his absentee employer, the stiffness of the long drive, and his worry over the lame horse. "Must be something else funny then." His implication was clear, but his tone was less menacing than eager.

Ward was delighted. The jehu had certainly earned his sobriquet with his wild driving, and his voice was surprisingly deep, yet he was very slight, and looked to be several years younger than Ward himself. And now, by golly, he wanted to fight! It was like something out of a dime novel. The older boy was lost in admiration. "How old are you?" Mirth bubbled in his tone.

"Old enough to whip you," was the belligerent answer.

"I bet you could," Ward smiled, "but I wasn't laughing at the horse, and I'm not laughing at you."

The boy was puzzled. "Then what are you laughing at?"

Ward shrugged. "Nothing."

With the eyes of the uncomprehending young stagecoach driver on him, Ward reached his arms exuberantly all the way up to the vault of heaven where a three-quarter moon presided over a myriad of stars. "I just felt like laughing, that's all. Don't you ever laugh at nothing?"

The boy's brow creased. "Why would I?"

Ward let out another whoop before answering. "Because it'll make you feel better, that's why. You should try it."

But the driver only frowned. "I can't just laugh at nothing."

"Why not? Try."

The jehu stared at him a moment in bewilderment, then shook his head and moved past him into the station.

* * *

The supper on offer consisted of a generous helping of beans accompanied by a thick slice of bread. Heath, eating silently at one end of the table, could not help noticing the giddy young man from the corral, who was now regaling the station master, the guard, and the other stage passengers with the tale of how he was going to strike it rich with a big gold or silver strike. He didn't seem to know or care which mineral might be on offer at his destination.

Heath, wise in the ways of mining camps, thought once the young man had stood in a glacier fed stream for a day, or breathed in fumes and been buried alive in a mine cave-in he'd be less inclined to laugh at 'nothing,' but it wasn't his business to argue with the passengers. He smiled a little to himself. _And his crazy talk is kinda cheering to listen to._

Ward caught the jehu's eyes on him from down the table, and saw that the boy now sported the ghost of a smile. "See?" he murmured, though he knew the driver couldn't hear him. "You're getting there."

* * *

After supper, the young man approached. "Ward Whitcomb," he said.

For a moment, he thought he wouldn't get an answer.

Then, "Heath Barkley."

"How old are you, really?"

Another pause. "Seventeen."

Ward whistled. "How'd you get this job?" he wanted to know.

The blonde head cocked, and one golden eyebrow rose. "You gotta yen to be a stage driver now?"

Ward shook his head. "Gold and silver's more in my line. What about you?"

"Me?" Heath repeated. "What about me?"

"What's your dream?"

The jehu looked away for a moment, then turned back and shrugged. "Don't have one."

The older boy blinked in surprise. "Not even a _little_ one?"

"No."

"Not any dream at all?"

"No."

"Well, then," Ward replied. "I'd say you should be laughing from the morning 'til the night."

"Why's that?" Heath asked suspiciously.

"'Cause you got nothing to laugh at."

* * *

Twenty-four hours and fifty miles later, they reached the end of the line. Before heading out to stake his claim Ward Whitcomb thought to bid good-bye to the surly young jehu. "When I strike it rich in a coupla days, I expect you to come pick up again." He winked and held out his hand to shake.

The boy smiled, if reluctantly. "I'll do that."

"There, you see?" Ward leaned conspiratorially close. "I bet, if you keep this up, one of these days you're gonna wake up to find you have yourself a dream."

The driver shook his head, but his smile had broadened into actual friendliness. "I don't think so. But good luck to you."

Ward nodded, still grinning. "Be seeing you."

As Heath lost sight of the young man in the crowd, he found himself chuckling for no reason at all.

And Whitcomb was right. He _did _feel better.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: ****_"_**_A man that hath friends must shew himself friendly: and there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother." _–Proverbs 18:24, Holy Bible, King James Version (KJV)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of this, except in the sense that love is ownership.

* * *

_Now:_

Audra was delighted with her new brother. Heath fit into the family so well that it often seemed to her as though he'd always been there, but on occasion his very different upbringing could make itself felt.

Like now, for instance.

Audra had drawn back her arm to throw away her apple core, when Heath's voice arrested her.

"Aren't you going to finish that?"

"It is finished," she told him in surprise, showing him the core.

He reached over to take it and devoured it completely in five seconds flat, then opened his palm like a magician to show her the top and bottom stems and some half dozen seeds. "Now it's finished, little sister," he corrected before flinging away the remains.

Or the Modoc.

Shortly after his arrival, she'd asked him his horse's name.

"She hasn't told me," he'd replied. Then he entered the Modoc in a race in Stockton, and when they won, he sold her.

When asked why, he was perplexed. "That's what I bought her for."

"You bought a horse just to turn around and sell her?"

"Of course. I'd never have gotten a better price for her than what was offered after the race… and to work cattle I need a horse that knows how to back up."

Yet for all his seeming strangeness, he had never seemed quite a stranger, not even in the beginning, when she'd whipped him at Father's grave, and he'd pulled her off her horse to make her stop.

When she'd told him whose grave it was, he'd apologized, saying he knew what it was like to be without your father, as though the way she felt mattered to him. She liked that. She liked him.

She felt an easiness with him, an instinctive closeness, that she hadn't really felt with her other brothers. Jarrod and Nick were so much older, and Eugene had been so concerned with keeping up with Nick and trying to keep from being overshadowed by him that sometimes, as the youngest, as the only girl, Audra had felt almost left out.

She never felt left out with Heath.

He seemed to genuinely like Eugene, and to respect Jarrod, but he clearly adored Mother, and he worshipped Nick.

Unlike Eugene, who had had to learn from Nick absolutely everything he was permitted to do on the ranch, Heath already knew how to do all the work entrusted to him and more.

Eugene also wanted more than to be just a rancher. A doctor perhaps, a poet, or a scientist. Eugene had many dreams, and they often changed from one day to the next. Heath's presence at the ranch allowed Eugene a much greater freedom to pursue his dreams, because he was now freed from any trace of guilt that he was leaving Nick in the lurch with the entire responsibility for the ranch on his shoulders. Nick _had _a helper now. And that was why Eugene liked Heath.

Heath's ambition appeared to consist solely of the desire to be with his family. His days were devoted to ranch work, and he could and did work harder and longer than anyone Audra had ever seen. He clearly wanted very badly to please Nick, and he DID please Nick a great deal, not that Nick was very often willing to admit it.

Yet Heath was also unafraid to disagree with their big brother. Their clashes were already legendary. "Nick!" he would say, "You have to let me say how I feel!"

Feelings ruled him, and if you felt strongly about something, and told Heath so, he took heed.

Like when she said she wanted to release the magnificent black stallion Lloyd Garner had given her. Nick had said the horse was too valuable to just release, that if she wanted to be rid of it, they should sell it.

Heath had understood that she needed the stallion to be free.

* * *

"Nick," Heath began, coiling his lasso and returning it to his saddle, "suppose a man wanted to buy a little spread around here. Is there any place you'd recommend?"

Nick's brows drew down. "Tired of us already, little brother?" He was clearly NOT pleased by the idea.

Heath grinned. "Never fear, big brother. I'm happy where I am. Not for me. For Ward Whitcomb and his wife."

"Hmm," Nick commented. From what little he'd seen of Heath's friend, he doubted very much that that scapegrace planned to settle down, but whatever. "To farm, or ranch?"

"Little of both, maybe."

He considered. "How about the Palmer place?"

Heath frowned. "Didn't Palmer go bankrupt?"

"Yeah, well, that wasn't because of his land though. Properly taken care of, a man could do alright there."

Heath nodded, considering it. "Thanks, Nick. I'll tell him."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **_God, how we get our fingers in each other's clay. That's friendship, each playing the potter to see what shapes we can make of each other._—Ray Bradbury

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of this, except in the sense that love is ownership.

* * *

_Then:_

"Hey, Heath?"

"Yeah."

Ward shifted position as if the grass under him had bunched up like a bed quilt. "Do you know what I'm gonna do?"

His friend lay a yard or two away in the brush, his gaze trained down the ravine watching for their quarry through a battered pair of field glasses. "Sure do."

"You do?"

The lips under the binoculars curved into a smile. "You're gonna 'dude yourself out from your crown to your corns' and take yourself into town to blow your whole season's pay in a day and a half 'living high on the hog,'" Heath predicted.

Ward's eyes popped with glee. "Exactly!" He literally rolled on the ground laughing. "You go to the head of the class, buddy!"

"Ward, if you expect to live high on one o'these javalinas," the younger boy commanded, "you best hush up and get your gun ready, 'cause they're here."

* * *

The old man walked up the dusty lane leading to the to the ranch compound with the loping gait of one who has already walked many miles and expects to continue walking for many more. He was a tall man, broad of chest, long of arm, his heavy musculature obvious even under his dusty traveling clothes and despite the white hair peeking from under the battered hat and the grizzled beard stenciled across his dark face. He contemplated the various buildings on offer, selected the appropriate one, and presented himself to the ranch foreman, his patient dark eyes waiting submissively for permission to speak.

The ranch foreman studied him for a long time before asking neutrally, "You lookin' for work?"

"Nah, suh, thank you kindly. I brung a message for Mr. Heath Barkley, if he be workin' here."

"He's here," the foreman confirmed, and signaled to a man standing nearby to fetch him.

Heath arrived in the space of a few minutes and walked off a little way with the old man for the sake of privacy. The messenger considered the slight golden youth gravely and decided that this had to be the right one. "You Heath?" he asked, just to be sure.

"Yeah." Heath couldn't help noticing that this man was darker even than Hannah, and bigger than Pat Murphy had been. Murphy.

He was still attempting to quash unwanted thoughts of Carterson when the old man spoke again.

"Your momma say it time for you to come on home when you finished here."

Heath nodded thoughtfully. He would have liked to know the reason, but didn't ask because he knew the man wouldn't know. Considering the distance that lay between the ranch where the two men stood and Strawberry, there had undoubtedly been many intermediaries between Hannah and the ebon giant before him. Hannah's 'grapevine' worked well, but Heath was only a receiver. It wasn't like a telegraph where he could send a reply. On the other hand, he reckoned no reply was needed. He had received the summons; none of the three women who awaited him in Strawberry would have the slightest doubt that he would obey.

"Thank you for your trouble bringing me the word." He fished in his pocket for a coin. As he handed over the broad pie-shape of a cut two-bit piece, their hands touched for moment, white on black, as startling as a shock, and the old man favored the young one with a wide, good-humored grin.

"Wasn't no trouble to fetch it along, suh," he assured the youth with a wink. "Didn't weigh nothin', and I'se comin' by this way anyway."

_'When you're finished' _meant it wasn't an emergency. Heath was glad, for he'd negotiated hard for his contract here, and he'd hate to lose it by leaving before the season's end… Heath considered the possible routes home, then made for the far corral.

* * *

Campbell had kept the mule for sentimental reasons: it had carried him to the gold fields. Now, though, his wealth was in cattle and the old girl had been put out to pasture. She lived there, but he didn't need her. He scarcely thought of her in fact. Now, however, he'd had to come out to the corral himself to see if the rumors were true.

They were.

Just as the gossips had it (and no one gossips more than cowboys), there was the mule, her brown coat brushed for once to gleaming perfection, and there with her as reported, was the Barkley boy, kissing her broad forehead, and plaiting flowers in her mane.

Campbell stopped and stared. "Have you lost your mind, boy? Why you messing with that mule?"

Heath looked over the fence at his boss and blushed. "I thought—I mean, I wondered—" he stopped.

Campbell began to get a very happy feeling. He'd thought, at the start of the season, that he'd been a fool to agree to give the bonus of his pick to a boy who'd never worked a season on Campbell's ranch before, but it had turned out to be a good bargain: Heath knew his stuff. And now…

"I know it isn't usual," the boy was staying, "but—"

"Lad," Campbell interrupted. "Are you saying you'd like old Mollie here to be you're 'pick,' rather than one of the horses from your string?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

The boy took a nervous breath, then let it out slow. "I figure the quickest way to get home is to cut across the corner of Death Valley," the blue eyes looked up gravely at his employer, "and I ain't like to do that on a horse."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **_Anybody can sympathise with the sufferings of a friend, but it requires a very fine nature to sympathise with a friend's success. –__Oscar Wilde_

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of this, except in the sense that love is ownership.

* * *

_Now: _

It was the happiest day of Nora Whitcomb's life. "Oh, Ward!" she exclaimed when they pulled the horses to a stop in front of the house on the old Palmer place, "I know we're gonna be so happy here!" She jumped down from the wagon and ran into their new home, leaving her husband and his best friend outside to unload the wagon and grin at each other.

"What did I tell you, Heath, old buddy?" Ward's smile reached all the way to his eyes. "I told you she's gonna love it."

"You told me, Ward," Heath agreed. "Now try not to foul it up."

"I won't, Heath. This time's gonna be different. You just wait and see."

"Sure, Ward." Laughter bubbled up inside him and spilled out into the golden sunlight of the yard. God, he'd missed Ward. "It's different _every _time!"

"Why you little—" a laughing Ward shoved playfully at his friend. "I'll have you know this _is _different, Mr. High-and-Mighty Heath Barkley! This isn't some get-rich-quick—"

"Just so you realize that, Ward," his friend agreed. "It's a lot of work, farming or ranching, either one. It's not like taking a spin at the Wheel of Fortune—"

"I know," Ward agreed. "I'm finally growing up, old buddy, and turning into a cautious old man, just like you. No more silver strikes, no more gold mines, no more gambling, nothing but hard work and mangelwurzels for yours truly."

"If only Momma had lived to hear you say that!"

"Your momma never did think I'd amoun—"

"Ward! Heath! Come and look!" The house delighted her. "It's gonna be so cozy here, Ward, we's gonna be just like two birds in a nest."

Light filled Heath's blue eyes. "But she loved Nora. You remember what she said about her?"

"'Ward,'" Ward quoted, in a very fair imitation of Heath's mother Leah Thomson, "'that girl is a nester, and if you want her to stay with you, you're gonna have to build her a nest!' She wasn't wrong neither. You remember how it was in Hangtown?"

"No one makes a Hangtown Fry like Nora," Heath agreed. "Those were good days."

"They were," Ward agreed. "Any day with Nora is good. And now we're gonna have ourselves some good days here in Stockton."

"Ain't you two comin' in?" Nora stood on the porch, and the combination of scolding and exultation was wonderful to behold.

"Yes, dear," Ward pursed his lips in an unsuccessful attempt to hid his smile.

"Where would you like these boxes, Mrs. Whitcomb," Heath asked gravely.

"Right here in the kitchen. I think the first thing we need is some coffee."

The place was run down, but that was why the price had been right, and anyway—

"Fixing it up is half the fun," Nora commented. She was glad Heath was here with them.

Of all their friends, Heath was her favorite. He'd been with them at the beginning, and he understood, had always understood her need for a home, to make a nest. She'd been glad to hear of his good fortune, finding his family, finding a permanent home at last. Like her, that was what Heath had always wanted. And Ward was different with Heath around than he was with other people. He'd no need to impress Heath, because the younger man already knew Ward through and through. It was good luck that they'd come to Stockton. Imagine Ward talking about the joys of hard work!

"Of course, it takes money to make money," Ward opined, when they'd unloaded their gear and were sitting at the table enjoying a second round of the silken darkness of Nora's excellent coffee.

"Naturally," Heath agreed. He wondered if Nora knew that Ward had 'borrowed' the final seventy-five dollars to close the deal on the homestead from him. If he hadn't known Ward so well, it might have bothered him; as it was he'd only been amused. "Ward," he'd said in affectionate exasperation, "why did you agree to the price if it was more than you had?"

"I think it was my instinct to screw things up," Ward had replied. "You know me, Heath."

"Boy howdy, do I ever."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **_Friends are people who know you really well and like you anyway. – __Greg Tamblyn_

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of this, except in the sense that love is ownership.

* * *

_Then: _

She was outside at her washtub. She always did the laundry outside in fine weather. She didn't turn at his approach, though Mollie made enough noise that she must have heard him.

Heath had trained the mule to stand like a cowpony, so he slid off her back and dropped the reins, then walked around so he was within the laundress' line of sight. "I got your message, Hannah."

She looked up at him, blinking. "My name's Hannah," she said.

"Hannah, it's Heath. Remember me?"

Hannah stared. This couldn't be Heath. Heath was a boy. This was a grown man…

Heath smiled at her. For some reason it was always like this. _You know, Leah's boy Heath? That you diapered, that you—_

"Heath!" She had recognized him now and was grinning hugely. "My boy Heath! Sho 'nuff. You look fit," she remarked. "Not like that that other time. Come to see your Ma?"

He nodded. "Like your message said. She home?"

"In her cabin there. Sure be glad to see you. It's been a long time."

"Too long," he agreed.

* * *

Leah bent over the table, writing something in a little book. Heath knocked on the jamb, since the door of the little one room cabin was open.

"Yes?" Leah called without turning.

"Momma?"

She whirled. "Heath? Oh, honey—" She had risen and flown to meet him. He had entered at the sound of his name, and his arms went around her in a crushing hug. "Heath," she breathed in satisfaction.

"I missed you, Momma," he breathed into the honey-colored hair, so like his own.

She gripped his shoulders and put him back so she could consider him. "I could tell, by all the letters you wrote."

"Momma—" he began.

She waved off his excuse, if excuse it was, and kissed him. "You're here now, and that's what counts."

"I brought you a present."

Her cheeks puffed up a moment as she blew out a breath. "Well, I hope it's cash money, boy, 'cause that's the only thing I need."

Heath chuckled a bit. "Don't we all."

"Look here," she said, moving back to the little table, and sitting down, then tilting the account book towards him. One corner of her mouth tucked itself up. "It's not been a good year," she said. "This camp isn't what it was."

"Why do you stay here, Momma? You could—"

"This is where I live."

"I know, but—"

"Heath."

"All right, Momma. You live where you want."

"Thank you."

Heath came close to the table and fished something out of his pocket. "Maybe this'll help."

Leah watched as her son built a little pyramid of the silver dollars known 'cartwheels' then topped it with a gold half eagle. He looked at her worriedly to see if it was enough, if she was pleased.

She was. "That's a very fine present, son… are you sure you don't need to keep some of this for yourself?"

He shook his head. "I have enough," he assured her.

"Makes a mother proud to have so generous a son." She winked.

"I love you, Momma."

"I love you, Heath." She beamed at him. "And lest you think me mercenary, I'd love you even if you didn't bring me money when you come to see me."

"I haven't always," he reminded her, frowning at the thought.

"Heath."

He looked at her.

"Don't."

He stared at her a moment, and his lower jaw moved forward as though he contemplated disobeying, then pressed his lips together to stop himself as she'd requested.

She smiled suddenly, her expression gently pleased by his exercise of self-control, his intentional smothering of angry thoughts that were too often near the surface on his brief visits home… since Carterson.

"You survived, son," she reminded him.

"Not everyone did… most didn't."

"You won't bring them back by grieving. None of us can bring anyone back that way."

She grew thoughtful, even sad, and watching the shadow cross her still pretty features, Heath was suddenly ashamed. "I'm sorry, Momma, I shouldn't have—"

She shook her head, smiling, and the tip of her index finger made an arc in the air before coming to rest lightly on the very tip of her son's nose.

He grinned back at her and embraced her again, this time not so tightly, careful to let her breathe.

She gave him a big smacking kiss on the cheek, and he let her go, comforted by her cheerfulness, her warmth, by the mere fact of being in her presence.

"Think of happy things," she advised him. "And speaking of happy things, you'll never guess who's turned up here in Strawberry."

Heath had no idea.

"Your friend Ward Whitcomb."

One golden eyebrow rose. "Ward's here?"

"Mmm-hmm," Leah affirmed. "Thinks he's gonna make a big strike. Not too bright, is he?"

"Nope."

Suddenly, they were both laughing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **_"__[S]isters could do a great deal for their brothers, if they would." _―Chrissy's Endeavor_, _Isabella Macdonald Alden

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of this, except in the sense that love is ownership.

* * *

_Now: _

To Audra, blessed herself with ample leisure in the late afternoons to ride out and visit her friends, or to wander out to the corral to see what Nick and Heath might be up to, it seemed perfectly reasonable that Mr. Whitcomb should ride over to pass the time of day and watch his friend finish his day's work before inviting Heath to go into Stockton for a drink or perhaps back to his little ranch for supper with himself and his wife.

It was nice, Audra thought, that Heath should have friends of his own; he seemed so alone sometimes. Odd really, to think what her brother's life had been like before he knew her and the rest of the family. As if Heath were two people: the Heath he'd been before, an only child, poor, the son of a single mother, and the new Heath, with three brothers and a sister. She smiled. And Mr. Whitcomb was a bridge between the old Heath and the new. Somehow, she couldn't help liking him for that.

Nick could help it. Audra watched her older brother frowning at Mr. Whitcomb, then at Heath, as the two younger men discussed how long it would be before Heath was finished for the day, and where they might go once the he was at liberty to depart. She heard Heath's laugh ring out, easy and free, and was enchanted. It made her glad to see Heath so happy.

"What's he laughing at?" Nick grumbled. "And what's Whitcomb doing here again, anyway? He was just here last week."

Audra giggled.

"Now you're doing it. What's funny?" Nick demanded.

"You are."

"I am not!"

"Sure you are, Nick. I never realized how green your eyes are."

"Green? They're not green!"

Audra dimpled. "With jealousy."

"I am NOT jealous."

"Yes, you are. You think Heath shouldn't have any friends but you."

"I do not!"

"I know you don't. That's what I just said!" She went off into whoops that rivaled Mr. Whitcomb at his best.

Exasperated with both siblings, Nick stalked away.

* * *

"Mother?" Audra asked as Victoria helped her arrange the trim on the new dress they were sewing.

"Yes, dear?" Mother's deft fingers held the bric-brac in place while Audra whip-stitched it onto the bodice.

"Why do you think Heath hasn't invited Mr. and Mrs. Whitcomb to the house?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

"No." She looked up from her sewing to meet her mother's curious eyes. "I think I'll ask them."

"No, Audra, don't do that."

"Why not? It would only be neighbor—"

"Let your brother have some privacy. If Heath wanted his friends here, he would ask them himself."

Audra opened her mouth to argue the point, then closed it. Perhaps Mother was right… but why wouldn't Heath want his friends to get to know his family?

* * *

Heath's real reason for failing to invite the Whitcombs to the house was that it never occurred to him to do so. The pattern of their friendship, from the time Ward and Nora had first gotten together, was that Ward and Nora kept house, and Heath visited them. Heath had never before had a home to invite his friends to. Ward had frequently visited the places where Heath worked, and the young man's employers had generally tolerated Ward's presence because he seldom stayed long, and Heath was a good worker who was allowed some leeway.

Only at Heath's mother's house had this pattern been broken, but even there all invitations had been issued directly by Leah, never by Heath. Neither Ward nor Nora had met Heath's 'new' mother, and somehow the three friends had unanimously (if tacitly) categorized the Barkley Ranch as more similar to the places where Heath had worked than to the home of his family. Ward had certainly noticed Nick's disapproval.

"He thinks I'm a bad influence on you, ole buddy, doesn't he?" Ward teased.

"You _are _a bad influence, Ward," Nora pointed out. "Look how you made Heath leave his work today."

"I finished my work," Heath tried to defend himself. "Nick said I could leave."

Ward, who sat facing the window, grinned. "Don't look now, but I think your big brother may have changed his mind and sent your sister to drag you back to finish some chore you forgot," he suggested, then crowed with delight at his friend's worried look.

A knock sounded on the door. Nora rose to answer it. As her husband had foretold, Heath's sister stood on the porch.

"Audra!" Heath was on his feet and approaching the door. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine," she assured him.

"Did Nick send you?"

"No."

"Then what…?"

"Well, you and Mr. Whitcomb said such nice things about her, that I felt it was time I met _Mrs._ Whitcomb."

Nora smiled. "Won't you come in, Miss Barkley? We're just having some coffee, if you'd like some."

Audra grinned. "I'd be delighted."

Looking at his friend's dumbfounded expression, Ward couldn't help it: he laughed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **_You have been my friends. That in itself is a tremendous thing. – __E.B. White_

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of this, except in the sense that love is ownership.

* * *

_Then: _

"Hey, mister," a familiar deep voice called, disturbing Ward's concentration at his 'diggings,' "I could carry you a growler of beer for fifteen cents."

"Isn't that a bit steep? I could get two beers at the saloon for ten."

"You're on, if you're buying," Heath laughed, stepping into sight.

"Ole buddy, I am so glad to see, I may do just that."

The men embraced roughly, hammering each other on the back for a moment.

"Your momma said you was expected," Ward remarked after they had released each other. "How come?"

Heath shrugged before explaining casually, "It's better'n a year since I been back, and I haven't written for some several months: I let that happen, Momma worries I'll forget the way back here 'n calls me to heel."

"I am right down ashamed of you, Heath. Man should treat his momma better'n that."

To Ward's delight, his friend blushed. "I know," the younger man admitted. "That's why I came when she called."

"That's a good boy," the hypocrite praised. Ward not seen nor written to his own mother for over four years. "I guess I'm about done here for now," he said. He wiped his hands on a rag, retrieved his coat and put it on. "How's about that beer?"

Smiling, Heath led the way.

* * *

The (relative) afternoon quiet of the saloon was broken by a big, dusty man in his full, virile prime wearing a tin star.

"Hey, anybody in here interested in riding posse?"

Heath's ears pricked up. "What's it all about, sheriff?"

"Two men killed a homesteader and his wife, about half way between here and Modesto. They came this way, but it's been quite a chase, and we could use some more men. Interested?"

"Yeah."

"What's your name?"

"Heath."

"And yours?"

"Ward Whitcomb."

In half an hour, they had gotten their gear, Heath had kissed his mother, and the two boys were off with the posse.

* * *

"Ward," Heath asked his friend, as the two rode drag on the little herd of men, "have you ever been out with a posse before?"

Ward laughed. "Nope."

"What made you decide to come then?"

"I like your company, Heath, ole buddy. You make me laugh."

Heath shook his head and didn't reply, but a smile shone in his eyes, and he was laughing softly, too.

* * *

They did not catch the killers. Instead, they were met in Angel Camp by the news that the men had been caught by another posse and were safely under hatches in the hoosecow in Stockton.

Ward, after two days in the saddle, was tired of roughing it anyway, and Heath's Mollie, who had at first occasioned amusement as a mount in a posse, had proven her worth to the extent of being traded for a wiry little blue roan plus twenty-five dollars, so for Heath the two day ride had been extremely profitable, never mind the modest per diem.

The friends decided to celebrate by whetting their whistles at the saloon across the street from the Angels Hotel.

"Prob'ly just as well," Heath remarked, referring to the abbreviated end to their adventure. "A posse can be a tricky thing."

"Hmm," Ward answered. It was not clear whether this meant he agreed or disagreed, but what _was_ clear was that Ward's attention had shifted to something across the room. "This place is well named," he stated.

Heath turned his head, and when he saw what had occasioned this remark, he grinned. "Boy howdy, ain't she sweet?"

"Sure is," Ward whispered, in what sounded like awe.

The saloon girl, for that was what she was, was the loveliest Heath had ever seen, bar none. Her neat, trim figure, while dressed in the usual garish finery, possessed a waifish grace, and soft tendrils of her lustrous brown hair had escaped the stylishly coiled updo to frame a face of delicate beauty. The huge eyes wore a startled look, as though a doe had wandered into this realm of men.

Heath was charmed, both by the girl, and by her surprising impact on his friend.

"Hey, pretty lady," Ward called to her hoarsely.

She came over to their table willingly, welcomed them to the saloon, told them her name, and listened to theirs, but she refused to sit, despite all Ward's blandishments, even though it plain she was strongly attracted to Heath's friend. She remained standing nervously and kept looking around at the other customers (or perhaps at her boss) because Ward, for all his polish, was failing to say what a man must to secure the undivided attention of a saloon girl.

At length, Heath took pity and did it for him. "Won't you have a drink with us, Miss Nora?"

* * *

A week later Heath was back at his mother's cabin, sitting over a chessboard with her, and losing badly.

"What's wrong, son?" Leah asked, as she captured his queen.

He bit his lip, studying the board. "Nothing." He reached a hand to his remaining bishop, then pulled it back without making the move.

"It doesn't seem like nothing," his mother probed. "Are you jealous of Ward, sweetheart?"

"Jealous?" Heath seemed surprised. "No, I— I like Nora, but I… I'm not in love with her, you know? And she's crazy about Ward."

"And he's smitten with her as well… what troubles you about it?"

"Nothing," Heath insisted. "I'm happy for them."

"But?"

He sighed. "But how long did Ward work at his diggings, Momma?"

She considered. "He was here about a week before you arrived."

"He was sick of the posse before the end of the first day… and he was at Campbell's with me, we signed on together, did you know that?"

Leah shook her head.

"He lasted two weeks, Momma, then he met up with this fella in the saloon on payday Saturday night, got mixed up in some kinda crazy get-rich-quick scheme, and quit Campbell's to go pursue it." Heath shook his head bewildered. "I don't understand him sometimes. He doesn't stick at things. How're he and Nora gonna make out?"

The lovebirds had returned with Heath to Strawberry, so Ward could wrap up his 'diggings,' then moved on to what they supposed would be greener pastures in Modesto.

"They'll make out, honey. People do." Then, because her son still seemed troubled, she continued, "Look, Heath, your friends don't have to be just like you. And If you wait to be friends only with perfect people, you're not gonna have any friends."

Heath seemed puzzled. "But Momma—"

"You like Ward?"

He nodded, smiling shyly. "He mostly can't make things work right, but I just wanna smile all the time when he's around. I know he's not reliable, but—"

"If he's not reliable, son, then don't rely on him. But you can still be his friend. And that's nothing to laugh at."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: '**_A friend is a brother your heart chose for you.'_

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of this, except in the sense that love is ownership.

* * *

_Now: _

"Heath," Audra asked as the two rode home together from the Whitcombs' place, "why don't you invite Ward and Nora to the house?"

Heath was surprised by the suggestion. "Because I—" he stopped abruptly. Why hadn't he? Because they were _his _friends, from his old life, and he… had no right to invite them? The idea made him uneasy. To cover it, he asked, "Why didn't you?"

She smiled sheepishly. "Mother told me not to." Then, seeing Heath's shock, she explained, "When I mentioned it to her, she said if you wanted them to come to the house, you'd ask them yourself."

Heath was disturbed by the idea that Mother didn't want his friends at the house, and his sister could see he was hurt by it.

"Heath, I'm sure she didn't mean she didn't want them to come, only that you should invite them, not me, and that if you had some reason you didn't want to invite them, then I shouldn't pressure you to—" she broke off, since he obviously didn't believe her. "Heath, if you'd like them to come, just ask them."

He was silent, but from his expression she could tell that the problem was not that he did not want them at the house, but that he was afraid now that they wouldn't be welcome.

"If you don't believe me, ask Mother yourself."

He stared at her in alarm. The very last thing he wanted was to hear directly from Mother that she didn't want him to invite his friends over.

Audra was exasperated. "Fine," she declared, "I tell h—" she stopped. If she told Mother she had visited the Whitcombs and that Heath wanted them to come over, when Heath himself hadn't said so, Mother would think Audra had directly disobeyed her…but she hadn't, had she?

Heath was watching her. "I don't think it would work, sis," he told her in amusement, grateful in a way that she saw how impossible it was. "Anyway," he comforted them both, "can you imagine Nick sitting at table with Ward? Jarrod cutting a beefsteak in half between them wouldn't be the half of it!"

Audra laughed with him, but regretted that she'd screwed everything up with her interfering. Well, she'd think of some way to fix it by and by.

* * *

The ranch, over the course of the month or so the Whitcombs had resided there, had not improved much. Nora had done what she could with the house, fixing up old furniture for them, and arranging their few possessions as becomingly as possible. She worked in the yard around the house, but the bulk of the work on the little ranch fell to Ward, and he was not much of a worker.

"It's hard though, to fix a place up without money," he remarked to Heath one evening after supper as the two men leaned against the rail fence looking out into the near pasture. "If I could borrow even fifty dollars, I could really fix this place up."

"Is that right?" Heath asked his friend, not fooled.

"It sure is," Ward assured him earnestly. "I'd get right on it, ole buddy, and pretty soon I'd have everything around here running smooth as a whistle."

Heath laughed. "Boy Howdy, would we be amazed by things you could do with this place," he teased, "and all for just fifty dollars! Why before you'd know it, we'd be living off the fat of the land, and then you and Nora and I'll—"

"It's easy for you to laugh," Ward cut in quietly. "Not all of us have found out we're part of a rich family. The rest of us, when we need help, have to help ourselves."

Silence pooled out between them. In their younger days—Heck, even a year or two ago, when Ward had spun his dreams, it had been for the three of them. Not just Ward and Nora, but Heath, too, was included in Ward's dreams of their living off the fat of the land.

Even Sarah, when she'd still been with him, had wondered at it. 'What _is _Ward to you?' she'd said.

'He's the closest thing I'll ever have to a brother,' Heath had said.

But now, now he had real brothers, and it had driven a wedge between himself and Ward. Heath sighed. He wondered how it was that Ward could always tell how much cash he had on him. "Would you really fix this place up if you had fifty dollars," he ask wistfully.

Ward, who had been uncharacteristically gloomy for a moment, grinned. "I shore would!"

Heath pulled the money out of his pocket and handed it to his friend. "Don't spend all in one place now, ya hear?"

Ward threw his arm around Heath's shoulders. "I knew I could count on you, Heath."


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: **_A loyal friend is like a medicine that keeps you in good health._ –Sirach 6:16(a) from the Greek Septuagint

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of this, except in the sense that love is ownership.

* * *

_Then: _

"I'm real sorry about this, Heath." The foreman tapped the little stack of greenbacks against the desk by means of giving expression to his regret, then gave a tiny frown. "I hope you don't feel I been unfair to you. I tried to warn you."

The golden head shook. "You haven't been unfair, Mr. Hughes. You warned me more than once. It's my fault, not yours."

Hughes shot the young man a look of consideration, then opened the cashbox again and rummaged through it until he found several silver cartwheels and one of the little two and a half dollar gold coins known as quarter eagles. He dropped several of the bills back in the box and handed the remainder of the bills and the coins he'd selected to Heath. "Better luck find you then, boy."

The newly unemployed cowhand nodded and moved to go only to be immediately stopped again.

"Heath, wait!"

One golden eyebrow rose inquiringly. Was he going to be given a letter of reference after all?

Apparently so. Hughes had pulled out a sheet of paper and was writing furiously, the scratching of the steel pen nib against the heavy paper loud in the silence of the office. Heath waited patiently while the man fanned the page, then sanded it. When he was sure it was dry, the foreman folded the letter in quarters and handed it over. "It says you're a good worker, but warns 'em to use a curb bit on you 'til you learn to govern your temper a little better."

Heath's lips curved in a rueful smile. "Good advice," he admitted. "Thank you, sir."

* * *

The whisky was vile, and his cards had been terrible for three hands running, but the weight of anxiety he'd brought with him on his mad flight from Strawberry two months ago had at last been expiated in his final fight with Jim Dobbin.

Of course, Dobbin had pounded the sand out of Heath, his body ached at this very moment from the punches he'd taken, but there was no denying that he felt… better. So he wasn't sorry, even if it had cost him his job. To Carterson with Jim Dobbin and the horse he rode in on as well.

Heath asked for two cards, then folded immediately on seeing what they were. If he didn't stop playing soon, he'd be broke. He remembered an old gambler telling him that your true gambler plays for the thrill of losing, that winning couldn't compare to the excitement of a catastrophic loss. At the thought, Heath drained his glass, gathered up what was left of his money and excused himself from the game.

He bellied up to the bar. "Beer."

As the barman slid a mug across to him, a slender young man entered backwards. He was speaking to someone just outside the door. "This looks like a good place to try."

Heath set the mug down without taking a drink lest he choke on his surprise. "Ward?!"

Ward turned to his friend, then back to his wife who was just then entering. "What'd I tell ya, Nora? He's right here all the time!"

"What are you doing here?" Heath asked when the friends had settled themselves at a table and ordered three servings of the 'regular' dinner.

"Your momma sent us," Ward laughed.

"What?!"

Nora's beaming smile brought out all the delicate beauty of her young face. "It's true, Heath," she agreed. "Ward has some business here in Tucson, and when I wrote to your mother she said you were working down here and that we should come cheer you up."

"Said you ran out of there last time like the devil himself's chasin' you," Ward added. He leaned forward conspiritorially. "Ole buddy, have you been fightin' with your momma?"

Heath looked at his friend, and suddenly, though it wasn't funny at all, he couldn't stop laughing.

* * *

Mr. Barkley was dead, Heath was sure of it.

Or, he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything about his father, hadn't ever been sure, not since Carterson. Not since before Carterson, truth to tell.

And anytime he so much as brought up his father these last few years, Momma'd clammed up, but now… now something… something had changed… and what _could_ have changed, except that before Heath's father had been alive… and now he was not?

He told himself he was crazy, because all Momma had said was that she wasn't talking about it, and that was all she'd ever said, but the way she looked at him now… with pity, and she had never done that before…

* * *

The general store boasted a big notice board for jobs wanted and jobs vacant. Heath went to look at it, and Ward and Nora came along for company.

**_Horsebreaker Wanted. _**_Immediately. Top pay. For round-up. _

Yes. Heath smiled. He thought of how many times he'd be thrown on a job like that in the two weeks before round-up began. Fire began to lick through his veins.

"You interested?" A man's voice inquired.

"Your notice?" Heath asked indifferently, as though the job meant nothing to him, though he wanted it badly. Maybe the fight with Dobbins _hadn't _silenced his demons.

"That's right." The stranger was shorter than Heath by half a foot, and slighter. "Name's Lightly. Me and my men have a contract to break horses for the round-up at Creekwood Ranch, but one of 'em got throwed. Broke a leg. Only two of us left to break them horses, so it's lookin' doubtful we'll finish on time, and I purely hate to fail on a contract."

"When's the deadline?"

"Week from Saturday."

"How many horses?"

"Forty."

"Mexican style?"

The horsebreaker shook his head. "They're mustangs mostly. Just need 'em straight broke. Ride 'em or weed 'em out."

Heath licked his lips. He saw that Ward and Nora had paused in their shopping to watch the negotiation unobtrusively. "How much?" He could hear the stress in his voice, the eagerness, and willed it away. No wonder he'd done so terribly at poker earlier.

"Ten dollars a day. And beans."

"Fifteen."

"Thirteen."

"Deal."

They shook. "Be at the ranch come sun-up."

Heath nodded.

As Lightly moved away through the aisle of the mercantile, Ward came up to slap Heath on the shoulder. "Thirteen dollars _a day_? You lucky ole hound dog! Easy money!"

Heath was giving Ward a funny look. Lightly had heard and came back over to the taller, younger men. He offered his hand to Ward. "Johnny Lightly."

"Ward Whitcomb."

"You ever seen a bronc bein' broke?"

Ward laughed. "Not yet."

Heath's new boss smiled. "Come out to Creekwood Ranch any day this week or next and further your education."

"I'll be sure to do that."

* * *

Contrary to Ward's opinion, the money was some of the hardest Heath had ever earned. But he was exhilarated. And happy.

"I've got bruises in places I didn't know I had places," Heath laughed, sopping up syrup with one of Nora's excellent flapjacks. Only woman Heath had ever met who could make 'em better than a man. Coffee like liquid night eased his throat. _God, he had missed them. _

Ward smiled across at his friend, marveling at the quantity of pancakes he was putting away. And he was getting big! "You must have a hollow leg you're putting 'em in," he teased.

"Nope. Just that they give you a month's pay every day, they expect you to do a month's work for it. Makes a man mighty hungry."

Good feelings filled the tiny room to overflowing. Nora smiled at her two men. "I wish it could always be like this." She set a plate of broiled steak next to the tower of pancakes, and Heath reached for one like a starving man.

Heath's pay had provided this feast, but—

"When I strike it rich," Ward promised, "it will be like this. Just like this. Won't that be somethin'? We'll be livin' high on the hog, Nora, honey. All three of us. You, me, and Heath."

Pleased laughter emanated from all three of the friends.

Three wasn't a crowd at all.

Three was just right.

* * *

Ward's voice drifted down softly in the darkness. "Heath?"

His friend was there, lying in a shakedown on the floor. "Yeah?" He kept his voice soft, because the even sound of Nora's breathing said she was asleep.

"Can I ask you somethin'?"

"Sure."

"Why'd you fight with your momma?"

Darkness and silence was the only answer.

Ward sighed. "I'm a fine one to say this, but you should make things right with her."

_Had she told Ward or Nora?_ Heath found the idea… hard to believe. "Make what right?"

"Whatever it is that's come between you."

It was Heath's turn to sigh. "My father's between us… or not between us."

"How's that?" Ward's voice was puzzled. He'd assumed Heath's father was dead.

"She wasn't married to him."

"Oh… well, it ain't the end of world." There was a long pause, then Ward asked curiously, "What's he like?"

"I don't know!" Despite himself, Heath's voice rose. He lowered it with an effort. "I never knew him. And Momma doesn't want me to. She won't ever say who he is, or where he is, or…"

"Is he alive?"

"Or whether he's alive or dead."

"Hmm. Well, they do say 'Momma knows best.' Prob'ly ain't worth knowin'."

"What?!"

A shrug was audible in Ward's voice. "Mine ain't."

"I'd trade a dozen of my daddy for your Momma, Heath," Nora added clearly. "You don't know how lucky you are."

Something moved in Heath's chest. "I do know how lucky I am… I just forgot for a little while."

* * *

Johnny Lightly's team of horsebreakers finished their contract on time. For once it was Nora and Ward who saw Heath to the stage, since Ward was still working on business deals in Tucson.

"You say Howdy to your Momma for us now, Heath," they told him.

"I'll give her your love," Heath promised.

"Give her your own!" Ward shot back.

Heath laughed. "I will."

Nora and Ward stood arm in arm watching as the stage thundered away. They could see Heath waving from the window, and he could hear their laughter in his memory, until the stage was out of sight.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: **_"I'll flee this bitter world… And seek some spot unpeopled and apart Where I'll be free to have an honest heart."_ ―The Misanthrope_, _Molière

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of this, except in the sense that love is ownership.

* * *

_Now: _

Ward Whitcomb never did fix up the ranch. Heath felt no surprise save at the degree to which it bothered him. He was an idiot to expect anything of Ward. He decided he needed some space between himself and his friend. In the old days, he would have accomplished this by the simple means of obtaining a job at some distance from the Whitcombs' current abode— Now, of course, that was out of the question.

Fortunately, Brother Nick dumped an excellent excuse into Heath's hands: round-up was approaching, and Nick felt the need of more horses. Accordingly, he sent Heath out into the hills with a couple of men to gather mustangs to serve as extra mounts. The task suited the newest Barkley brother: he enjoyed the thrill of the chase, and mustangs were his preferred cowponies.

* * *

Heath had been poor-born, and the thought processes of the rich baffled him, even when those rich people were his own family.

A rich person never looked at a thing and said, "This is good enough." They always wanted everything to be the 'best,' by which they meant that the thing (whatever it was) was expensive and imported from a great distance away, even (perhaps especially) when what was near to hand and free would serve the purpose just as well.

Mustangs, even mustangs that were still half wild, were excellent for working cattle. Yet Nick had insisted that Heath should ride Garibaldi on this hunt, rather than one of his usual mounts, because his big brother wished to 'prove' to Heath that the animal, a maremmana whose sire had been imported at great expense from Italy, was 'better' than a mere mustang.

Having had the Tuscan horse under saddle for two days and more, Heath could definitively state that while Garibaldi was by no means the fastest horse he'd ever ridden, he was very likely the strongest, steadiest, most patient, and best trained. But what was the use of this knowledge? The Italian horse was a gelding, and as rich as the Barkleys might be, it was foolhardy to contemplate importing breeding stock from the other side of the world for the purpose of working cattle when there were all these perfectly good mustangs roaming around. It made no sense.

But it was pure Nick.

* * *

It was working. There was nothing like being away from the house for a few days to make Heath appreciate his new family, and Silas' cooking, and the ability to take a good long soak in that fancy bath upstairs pretty near anytime he wanted—

"Hold up there!" Heath urged the maremmana over to the other men, who'd managed get a lasso round the neck of a gorgeous black stallion. He dismounted and approached the beast carefully. Pity really. He was a beautiful animal.

"Easy boy," Heath murmured. He patted the stallion's neck. It eyed him nervously, sidestepping just a little as Heath reached for the rope encircling the animal's neck.

"What's wrong?" Brown asked. "He's in good shape, the right age, seems calm enough."

Heath shook his head. "Old enough already he'd be proud cut at best. But anyway we can't use him."

"Why no—" Brown broke off as the stallion's movement exposed his glossy flank to the rays of the setting sun. A capital B with a diagonal line through it had been burned into his hip.

"It's Audra's stallion," Heath confirmed.

Brown shook his head and helped release the animal. "Sorry. I didn't recognize him."

"It's all right," Heath told him. He slapped the stallion's rump lightly, and they watched the beast take off. "Let's make camp. We'll find some others in the morning."

* * *

Yes, it was definitely working. Ultimately, whether Ward chose to do his work or not, Heath could do his own work, and the work he did now was for his family. And the Barkleys were not a family who would allow any possession of theirs to be neglected.

Heath gazed up at the stars, and where before he had sometimes felt lonely under them, tonight he felt loved. He chuckled softly at the thought, before drifting off to sleep.


End file.
